Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Fuck me. I just wrote an entire, hilarious post about this and my damn browser crashed when I tried to post it.

Anyway.

A doctor in France performed the first facial transplant. Umm, awesome! You can't spell France without face, bitches.

The woman who received the transplant was just walking down the street by a cafe and a guy selling long bread, smoking a cigarette, not shaving her armpits and probably stinking a lot when a dog came out, barked "Le woof! Le woof!" and attacked her in the face. And, of course, being French, at the first sign of any force against her, the woman just surrendered to the dog. Then they both laughed and laughed at old Jerry Lewis movies.

Okay, no more French jokes! On to the inappropriate sodomy! Probably not surprising to most of you, that's not even close to the first time that those two sentences have been said by me.

The face was removed from a braindead woman. The orderly who regularly engaged in inappropriate sexual intercourse with the woman was quoted as saying, "I don't care. You don't fuck the face! Oui! Oui!" It's strange that he would say this publicly.

If I could receive a face transplant from anybody, I think It would probably have to be from David Faustino, Bud from Married...With Children. This is for two reasons: 1) I'm not a very tall fellow, but he was pretty damn short. Whenever people would see me, they would always say, "Wow. You're much taller than I thought you would be." and 2) I could finally get people to call me Grandmaster B.

Or, I would have them remove my face and leave it all gross looking. I could so easily become a Supervillian. People would be like, "That guy's such a dick." "Yeah, but have you seen his face? I completely understand." People probably say that about me now anyway.

For all we know, Asian people could have been doing face transplants for years, but we would never know because they all look the same. I'm kidding, they don't all look the same; some of their eyes go up on the corners and others down. But they all would have eaten the fuck out of that dog before it was able to mangle their face.

Interesting thought of the day:Girls wear lipstick because, without it, how else would they mark every cup in your apartment as their territory? They would have to resort to urination. And that's just hot gross.

Monday, November 28, 2005

"How about these long lines, huh?" the forty-something man with the patchy facial hair and extreme overbite (EXTREME OVERBITE! The new hot dog from the creators of Mountain Dew!) says to me.

"Yeah. They're something," I reply, staring at the "Rules for Safe Driving" sign on the wall hoping to end the conversation there.

"I mean, seriously," he continues, "it's like, these lines are so long, I better be getting a blowjob from Pam Fucking Anderson at the end. Am I right?" His arm nudges mine.

My arm feels sticky where he touched me. I know it isn't, but it just feels like it should be.

I fucking hate strangers. And this doesn't come from some childhood trauma where a guy fingered my asshole in the changing room at Wild Rivers Water Park. I just fucking hate strangers.

"Hmm." My replies are getting shorter. Still no eye contact. Is he catching on?

"So, what are you here for?"

A goddamn question. Why did it have to be a question? Now everybody around me will think I'm the asshole if I don't answer him. Don't they know that he's really the asshole? He is. Not me. But, I can't have all of these random strangers thinking that I'm an asshole.

I'm here to renew my license.

Before I can say the words, he continues, "I'm here because I just bought a new boat and, thanks to the D fucking M fucking V fucking," he doesn't know how words work, "I have to fiscally come down to the office to register it."

Fiscally? I hate this man. I hate him hard. This is a special kind of hate that is only reserved for people who put pets in clothing and the guy who fingered my asshole in the changing room at Wild Rivers. If that happened. But it didn't.

Without thinking, I spin around and grab a number two pencil (not the clever moniker I assign to the log of shit that I fill out Scan-Trons with, but an actual pencil) from a girl taking her written exam.

"Hey, that's my...," she cries, stopping when she sees the fury of hate soup overflowing from my eyes.

"I'm doing this for everybody," I tell her. She totally makes out with me for, like, ten seconds.

Back to work.

"What are you doing with that pencil, Buddy?" the man asks. I pretend I don't hear him even though I do. It's called pretending; look it up.

Turning my anger into strength thanks to a process called photosynthesis (which was invented by the Ancient Egyptians), I jam the pencil into the man's throat.

The crowd cheers and I totally make out with that one girl again. But their cheering is cut short.

A plume of thick smoke erupts from the man's neck. The song "Don't Stop Believin" by Journey begins to fill the room.

Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world.

It's worse than I thought.

The cheers turn into screams. A black woman explodes. Everybody is covered in chocolate cake and attitude.

"So, you thought a number two pencil could defeat me, did you?" A half-lizard, half-Steve Perry nine-foot-tall beast hisses at me.

She took the midnight train goin' anywhere.

"Make it stop! Oh, God. Make it stop," a woman screams. She pulls on the door to escape, but the door doesn't budge. "He's somehow locked the doors with his mind! We're all going to die!"

A sign on the door reads 'Push to exit.' I don't correct her mistake. I hope the Steve Perry lizard eats her first.

"Do something," that wicked hot chick that I've made out with twice now screams to me. "You don't know what's going to happen when it hits the chorus."

Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit.

She's right. It's nearly at the chorus and Steve Perry lizard is growing stronger and larger with each line of the verse. It's as though he's powered by suck.

A centaur who, unbelievably, I hadn't noticed before, hands me a golden bow and arrow then evaporates into a cloud of a hundred pregnant rainbows.

"Hey, Steve Perry," I say pulling the arrow back onto the string.

He took the midnight train goin' anywhere.

I let go of the string. But, I've never used a bow and arrow before and the arrow just kind of sticks to my hand then falls to the ground.

"What do you want?" Steve Perry lizard hisses. Now eleven feet tall, glowing, and stroking his reptillian mullet with one hand, he holds a poster of a soaking wet kitten that reads "Bad Hair Day" that he tore from the wall in the other. "Now that's funny. Git 'er done."

A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume.

"Wait. Just--hold on." I pick up the arrow and rearm the bow. Quickly I try to come up with a clever way to work one of his other songs like "Faithfully" or "Open Arms" into some sort of comedic line but can't. I let it fly and it sticks straight into his torso. He should be dramatically exploding any second.

"What is this?" he asks, not exploding.

"It's the golden arrow that the centaur gave me," I reply in a surprisingly matter-of-fact manner.

For a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and on.

That's the last line of the verse. The chorus is coming.

"On and on and on and on," he shrieks, his body swelling in size and breaking the roof of the DMV.

Everybody, maybe even me, screams in unison at the horror that is about to occur once the chorus begins and Steve Perry lizard is able to harness all of his power or whatever happens at the chorus. It was never really made too clear. This was all kind of sudden, you know.

Before our fears can be realized, the spirit of Kurt Cobain appears and, using his ghostly shotgun, shoots what I'm assuming were some sort of Magic Heaven Bullets through the hole in his own head and into the head of the fifteen-foot-tall, reptillian, former lead singer of Journey causing him to just sort of cough a little and then fall over and die.

The young girl who may have contracted my Herpes Simplex I (and, if she's lucky later, II), runs over and wraps her arms around me, "Who was that ghost? John Mayer?"

I break her neck and she drops to the floor in a heap.

I have one!

"Hey, Steve Perry, Who's Crying Now?" Nobody laughs. Maybe they don't realize what song it is. But I know they know it.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

I'm sure you've all heard the devastating news that Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson are getting a divorce. I care about this as much as an Ethiopian kid cares about the flies around his eyeballs. But, I love the awful headlines that people try to come up with in situations like this.

Newlyweds No More -- Probably the easiest headline of these, but at least it's not trying to be clever.

Will Newlyweds Become Newlysplits? -- They're not even trying with that one. "Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson? More like Nick Ladivorce and Jessica Splitson." Fucking retarded.

Wedded Diss: 'Newlyweds' Jessica and Nick Split -- You see what they did there? Instead of bliss, they said diss. It rhymes, yet they mean completely different things. Normally I'm okay with stuff like that, but it doesn't even work with the definition of diss. It's not like Nick was like, "Jessica, I love you," and she was all, "I don't love you. FACE!"

Newly Separateds -- Fucking Australians. Somehow this one is even worse than the 'Newlysplits' one. At least the 'Newlysplits' one tried to match the number of syllables; this one just used the prefix and tacked on the entire legal definition of what process they're going through: "From Newlyweds to Newly Legally Separated for the Next Twelve Months Until the Paperwork Goes Through to Finalize Their Divorce---s."

And, I'm nominating this as the single worst headline about this crisis (yes, crisis): Unlachey In Love. That's so fucking bad. If Lachey sounded anything like lucky, I'd forgive it and actually think it was kind of clever, but just because it starts and ends with the same letter doesn't mean you can make a pun out of it. It's like telling somebody to go firetruck themselves. Or saying, I want to put my rock-hard pants in your tight coat.

And, this is just a note to Splitsville: I know you're not a real place, but whoever your publicist is, they're doing a bang-up job with getting people to go there. Any time I hear of somebody getting divorced, according to headlines, that's where they go. You must have a very good Club Med.

Interesting thought of the day:The Hamburgler had sex with Mayor McCheese in the plastic balls at McDonalds. This is the reason the Hamburgler is never convicted. Coincidentally, my penis looks exactly like Grimmace.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Every year the President pardons a turkey as a way of showing the world that turkey's lives are more valuable than Iraqi children. And that's how things should be.

This time things were different, though; there were two turkeys. In typical GWB fashion, however, he pardoned the turkeys and, upon finding out they were retarded, re-ordered their executions.

That's how my President does it.

If we ever get a dirty, vegan Hippie as our President, I'm sure some tofurkey will be ceremonially replanted or however the hell you un-eat tofu. Melted down into candles? Boiled and made into flip flops?

In the article, it says that the two turkeys that got pardoned are now going to Disneyland. Seriously. You used to have to win a Superbowl or World Series, but now the Disney stock has fallen so drastically that all you have to do is not be eaten and you get to go? Sure, half of the Uruguayan rugby team that crashed in the Andes couldn't go, but, aside from those guys, the gates to the Happiest Place on Earth have swung wide open. First they let black people in and now this.

Interesting thought of the day:Not many people know that Thanksgiving Eve is National Racism Day, Chink.

Monday, November 21, 2005

I went to the grocery store yesterday to pick up some necessities like lye and a shovel. While I was there, I noticed this dark-haired woman looking at me. It wasn't one of those good looks either. You know the good ones I'm talking about: when she's rubbing the Aunt Jemima syrup bottle on her vagina screaming, "I want to ooze my lady-goo all over your short stack!"

It wasn't one of those. And I don't have a "short stack."

Whenever I would pass her she would sigh heavily and roll her eyes. Finally, when I saw her in the International Foods aisle where I was picking out some fermented baby dolphin meat to put in my nephew's piñata, I had to say something to her. By the way, when I use italics, that's me being sarcastic; I don't think this woman understood it.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I think you know," she replied.

"I have no idea. But the way you're staring at me, it's like you're in love with me."

"I most certainly am not."

"Well, why don't you marry me then?" I said.

"I thought you'd never ask," she quickly responded.

She took my hand and pulled me through the store to the deli section. This would have been odd enough, but then we continued on through the metal doors to the back where they hang all of the meat and frozen cow heads that Mexican people buy sometimes to put in soup.

Her entire family was there dressed up and looking as nice as a family that I'd later come to learn suffered from six generations of fierce inbreeding could be. Her mother/sister was there. Her father/uncle/son was there. And her grandmother/brother-in-law was there. It was very inbred.

We stood in front of the Minister hand-in-hand. Me in my Vaginas are for Pussies™ t-shirt and her wearing a three-sizes too large unitard with one tit hanging out and one wooden clog infested with termites.

"I was being sarcastic about the proposal," I cried, my desperate plea falling on deaf ears. Literally. A side-effect of the inbreeding was deafness and a tendency to permeate an odor akin to a burnt hair and asparagus piss latte. She was the only one from her family in the freezer who could hear, but she was too busy sorting out the details with the Minister. By the time she did finally turn to speak to me, I could only speak in short spurts as I was choking on tears and the fermented dolphin meat that I had decided to snack on while being dragged through the store.

"I do." She gripped my hand tight and smiled at me, her one good tooth beaming at me like a lighthouse a sailor sees right before he crashes into a coral reef.

All I have to do is say 'I don't.' That's all I have to do and this is over, I repeated to myself. Just don't be sarcastic.

"Do you, Kurt, take Cornelia to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Here we go. No sarcasm just this once.

"I do."

Fuck!

So, I'm married now. It's kind of weird how this works. They're so inbred that, in order for us to have a kid, I have to actually make love to her dad/uncle/brother and there's a possibility she'll get pregnant. At least there's always some lovely banjo music playing.

Kids, the moral of this story is, "Don't be sarcastic or you'll end up having sex with some inbred dude's open appendix scar wound trying to get the girl that you married in the back of a grocery store pregnant."

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Maybe you heard or you didn't because you get all your news from me, but Friday night there was a vote in the House that was shot down 403-3 to withdraw the troops immediately from Iraq. I was listening to some right-wing talk radio program yesterday and the host was gloating over the fact that while Democrats may say they want the war to end, deep down they know that the Republicans are right about the war and that's why it was 403-3. The thing that irritates me the most is that people hear that dumb motherfucker talk and they think that what he's saying is absolutely true. They don't bother to find out what the actual details of the story are.

The truth is that there was a proposal put up by John Murtha, a Democrat, that had a much more thought-out plan for the withdrawal of the troops and it wasn't like the Bill that ultimately got put up by a Republican Congressman. See, the Republicans' plan was basically, "Let's just fucking leave. We'll leave so fast that all of the troops' guns will still float in mid-air for a second before they drop to the ground."

Nobody can seriously vote yes for that kind of bullshit. But, what a lot of people will hear is that the Republicans "called the Democrats' bluff" about pulling the troops out of Iraq and the Republicans TOTALLY OWNED THEM.

But, in reality, what the Republicans proposed was like the question I would ask other kids when I was younger because I was a little bastard.

"Does your mom know you're gay? Yes or no. YES OR NO ONLY."

The entire crux of the question is based on a false premise. But, the premise, to stupid fucking right-wing talk show hosts, is something that cannot be questioned.

If people voted Yes on the Bill that was proposed, they would look like they just wanted to "cut and run" to borrow a cliche from everybody who has ever talked about the War or my penchant for stabbing joggers in the park. But, if the Democrats voted No, then it would look like they were agreeing with the Republicans because, when it really comes down to it, the Republicans are right about everything--especially about how Evolution is for pussies.

Maybe this post wasn't funny, but it's just frustrating to me that a majority of people will just hear about the vote and leave it at that instead of finding out what really went on. So, I decided, with my massive audience of literally Billions per day that I reach, to educate whomever was out there about why every politician--Republican, Democrat, Independent and Whig--should have empty wrapping paper tubes shoved into their various orafices and then have lava poured into the makeshift funnels. And I'm not talking that fake stuff that they put in those lamps that Hippies like, I'm talking real fucking lava that kills Hawaiians and Darth Vader.

Interesting thought of Sunday:Jesus died so you can watch football. Remember that.

Friday, November 18, 2005

A big movie opens this weekend that tells the story of a boy wizard growing up learning to harness his powers. Joaquin Phoenix is Johnny Cash in Walk the Line. Not a lot of people know that the reason Johnny Cash became a successful country artist was because he was a level eight warlock. His famous song "Ring of Fire" is about the time he was surrounded by five dragons and managed to slay them all with his magic guitar and the power of rock. This movie is going to be awesome.

In Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire I heard there's also some magic. The magic of when a young Hermione first begins to experiment with herself alone in her room (with her magic wand if you know what I'm saying--I'm going to prison). There's also the wonder of a newly pubescent Ron who disovers you don't need magic spells when you have Roofies (look for the spin-off film Ron Weasley and the Chalice of Date Rape coming in 2008). And, finally, the entire film franchise is turned on its head when Harry reveals to Dumbledore, in a very Airplane-esque manner, that he does, indeed, like gladiator movies.

My recommendation is, if you're going to see one new movie this weekend, make it Harry Potter simply because Walk the Line is like the film Ray except Johnny Cash wasn't blind or black or a transvestite. You can rent Ray and turn up the contrast on your TV and it'll be exactly like watching Walk the Line.

Interesting dream of the day:So, the other day, I had a dream I could fly. I have these dreams semi-frequently and have had them since I was a child. Anyway, in my dream it always seems so easy to do. I just point my fist in the air and jump and there I go. Well, when I was younger, when I would have these dreams (and I'm talking mid-teens, not even six or seven), I would actually try what I was doing in my dream when I woke up. Needless to say, it never worked. Or did it?

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

I get dozens of emails a week saying, "Kurt, you seem to make all the right moves with the ladies. What am I doing wrong?" So, I've decided to help you out by highlighting things you need to work on.

Pointing to your erection and saying, "The Love Alarm is going off and it's half past boner" will almost always get you kicked out of church.

Trying to get a girl to go out with you by proving to her what a good kisser you are by making out with your best male friend in front of her never works. However, if all gender roles are switched and you're a woman trying to get a guy to go out with you, this is the best thing you can do.

The first thing you say to a woman when you approach her at a bar should not be, "On the surface you seem like the perfect woman; tell me you take it in the fart box."

Your cologne should not be homemade and, specifically, should not include any bits of ground-up meat or gravy.

The line on your business card where it says, "I'm going to piss all over you, bitch" is kind of a turn off.

Singing songs to your lady is good. Reciting famous suicide notes is not.

Honesty is great. "Sometimes I put a thimble on my penis and pretend it's a tiny Nazi." Forget honesty.

When your lady is about to see your member for the first time, refrain from saying, "These are my boy parts. You're welcome."

"Your vagina smells exactly like my grandma's!" should never come out of your mouth under any circumstances. No matter how true it may be.

Flowers are a good gift on a first date. A baby you stole from the hospital, not so much.

"My semen is so potent I've been able to impregnate nine different species of animal. Ever seen a half-dolphin, half-man? It's possible. I'm just saying." While impressive, feats of beastiality only impress a very small portion of women.

Discussing past relationships is a no-no. "Two years! That's right. Her parents made us stop dating because they felt that two years was not old enough for her to start dating."

"Mmm. Delicious." Repeated over and over while a woman is talking to you will not get you laid. Especially when she is talking about how her dog just died.

There you go, World. I hope you have learned from some of your mistakes. I may come back with another installment of this soon since I know you guys have a lot of questions. Feel free to email me with your questions: dontreadthisweblog at gmail dot com. Or leave them in the comment section below.

Interesting thought of the day:Peter Piper loved alliteration so much that, aside from picking a peck of pickled peppers, he also pummeled pregnant pre-teens and pooped pewter pachyderms.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Friday, November 11, 2005

I can't think of a good title for my weekend movie previews, so, for now, I'm going to pretend that it has a really cool name in Japanese, but something gets lost in the translation.

Three new movies open in wide release this weekend and there couldn't be a wider range of shit I don't want to see unless there was some lame-ass Reese Witherspoon/Kate Hudson fights off her romantic feelings about Hugh Grant/Hugh Grant film mixed somewhere in there.

The first film comes to you by the guy who starred in Swingers and directed Elf. Zathura tells the story of how a director who once made good, entertaining movies decides to throw all that away and remake Jumanji...in spaaaaaaaaaaaace! Remember how bad the show Cheers got when they moved that to space? The same thing is going to happen here. Granted, a huge up side to Zathura is at least, unlike its predecessor, it doesn't have the world's least funny "comedian" Robin Williams in it. But even without Robin Williams trying his hardest to convince people that if he says things a lot and quickly that something in there has to be funny, this movie is still going to be shitty.

By the way, let me be very clear to anybody reading this in case you missed it: Robin Williams is not funny. The laughing that you do when he says something is the exact same kind of laughing you do when you first take your pants off in front of the doctor*. It's uncomfortable laughter. He has managed to make a living being a comedian by doing "improv" comedy that involves him stealing jokes (look it up) and the jokes he chooses to take are awful. It's like, you know when you take a dump, turn around to flush and it's nowhere to be found? There's some shit-stealing Robin Williams-esque gnome who does that.

*hooker

The second movie out this weekend is Derailed. This stars Jennifer Aniston as a woman and Clive Owen as a man. The trailers are all pretty ambiguous, but I think it's safe to say that something goes wrong (Derailed!) and some tense situations follow. I guess if you're vague about a movie, it's harder to convince people not to see it. It worked for Pearl Harbor. But I'm just going to speculate and spoil Derailed for you and let you know that Jennifer Aniston has a penis. That last sentence ought to bring in some interesting google traffic.

And, finally, the crème de la crème of films this weekend is Get Rich or Die Tryin'. First, just in the title, I'd like you to notice the apostrophe instead of the 'g' on the end. Right off the bat that establishes that this film, much like the television series Punk'd, doesn't play by the rules. If it doesn't even abide by the constricting bonds of grammar, what kind of rule breaking can I expect to see within the context of the film itself? How exciting. And, to add another espresso shot to your excitement latte, the world's most boring rapper "50 Cent" is the star. I've shat bloody post-anal rape stool with more charisma than 50 Cent. I know why he got shot nine times, it was self-defense; he was boring everybody around him to death.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

As you probably know by now, the Kansas School Board has elected, by a 6-4 margin, to allow "Intelligent Design" to be taught in public schools as an alternative to Evolution.

But, relax, left-wing nutjobs! It's not religion. It's Intelligent Design. They're not saying, "Hey, maybe God created the Universe." No. They're saying, "Hey, maybe a god created the Universe." Doesn't that work much better? It's so open-minded. They're so liberal!

Sure, there's years and years of scientific study and research that prove to a very reasonable degree that the species on the planet have evolved over time. But, isn't there an equal chance that a unicorn fucked a dragon on top of a cloud made of pixies and their offspring was Baby Earth Jesus?

Sounds good to me.

On the heels of this decision, the Kansas School Board has also decided to adopt the song Dust in the Wind by the band Kansas into their teachings. This will now be known as Psalm 151 and will be totally kickass.

And, effective immediately, The Wizard of Oz will be shown in every science class as a documentary on how Kansas came to be. Children will learn that there was a time not long ago when monkeys could fly, lions could talk, and ruby slippers were something that could magically transport you home and not something that got your "queer ass" tied to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged until the gay came out of you.

I, for one, applaud Kansas for taking a stand in this age ruled by Science and reasoning. Who needs to know how things really work? Hell, that's all too confusing for me. You can take all day and try to explain to me why it is when I point the remote control at my TV and push some buttons it changes the channel. You can spew your mumbo jumbo about infrared signals and sensors, but, dude, you're starting to hurt my brain. I'd much rather believe that I am a wizard and the remote control is my magic wand; it's easier that way.

Abracadabra, Kansas! You just made eighty years of progress disappear.

Interesting thought of the day:Santa Claus's beard is made from all of the first pubic hairs of every child on the planet.

Monday, November 07, 2005

I was looking for ways to get into contact with some celebrities so I could hopefully score a writing job somewhere and a surprising number of celebrities have their business cards readily available online.

(End fake setup)

Jessica AlbaParis HiltonKevin FederlineR KellyI found some more (this is me keeping with the setup of the bit and acting like I didn't make all of these), but I'll have to get to those another time.

Interesting thought of the day:Motorcycles stay on two wheels in direct contrast with the laws of physics. Therefore, anybody you see riding a motorcycle is a witch and should have a pole put between their spokes (not a euphemism) Indiana Jones style.

Friday, November 04, 2005

This is going to be a regular feature every Friday or whenever new movies are coming out, so if you hate movies, reading, or photoshopped pictures of Ben Affleck engaged in various activities (a high probability), you should probably skip this.By the way, that's my worst Photoshop job ever. I didn't even bother trying to add legs. You know how hard it is to find an actual photograph of a pegasus? It's roughly as difficult to find a picture of Renee Zellweger looking anything but horrifying.

Chicken LittleRemember when the word "Disney" wasn't synonymous with "I'd rather watch my grandmother jerk off a horse?" Well, if you're too young and only have masterpieces like Home On the Range (Bust a moo! Fucking kill me) in your memory, trust me on this one. Disney used to make some pretty good cartoons. This probably isn't one of those good ones. Instead of making sure they have a good script, they spend too much time trying to nail down the actors that the kids like. Don't get me wrong, I like Zach Braff fine, but just because he's doing a voice for it doesn't mean that it's going to be either good or entertaining. I mean, I love Charlize Theron, but if she took a shit, I still wouldn't eat it. No matter how German I was feeling. Besides, it's obvious that they spent all their money getting 81-year-old picture of hip Don Knotts.

The sky is falling? More like Disney's stock price is falling! Am I right, people? Come on.

JarheadSo I don't know anything about this movie, but, suffice it to say, I think the Archie comic books have pretty good grounds for a lawsuit. If this movie is about a guy who wears a crown made of felt, rarely opens his eyes, hates girls and loves to eat, somebody's in trouble.

Also, somebody tell me if there's a point in the movie where he gets a special trinket that goes on his hat that makes him irresistible to the opposite sex because then they're blatantly stealing. That's just lazy, Sam Mendes.

This movie is about what would happen if Donnie Darko lived and decided to join the military after his brush with nearly being crushed to death by a plane engine. He fights in the Gulf War alongside a guy in a giant rabbit suit and the child molestation machine that is Patrick Swayze.

They call him Jarhead because, at one point, he tries to fish out the last pickle in the container with his mouth, but it gets stuck on his head. The entire scene is a metaphor for his inner struggle with his own homosexuality. Sam Mendes, director of American Beauty, loves to work in metaphors--especially homosexual ones. It's widely known that all metaphors are at least bi-curious.

Saw 2This is the sequel to the movie with quite possibly the worst "twist" ending in the history of films. And I'm including the twist at the end of You've Got Mail where Meg Ryan isn't eaten by lions.

Though it was the champ at the box office last weekend, don't look for it to repeat because if there's one thing kids like to watch more than people having body parts amputated, it's a serious, black-and-white movie about Edward R. Murrow and the McCarthy hearings. Look for Good Night, and Good Luck to break $100 million this weekend.

"Dude! Did you see the part where Edward R. Murrow totally dissed Joseph McCarthy?!? Fucking extreme! Let's go skateboard off of a building on the back of a panther!"

Interesting thought of the day:Filet-o-Fish, the McDonald's sandwich, is not, as they would like you to believe, Irish.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

So, I bought the domain name www.dontreadthisweblog.com. You can now use this to advertise my weblog if you want. It just redirects to this page, but it's much less confusing than thetoon.blogspot.com.

And, remember the best way to advertise my site. Yell out, "Don't read this weblog dot com!" and then punch whomever you're talking to in the face/throat/neck. My website will make its way onto police reports around the country!

"So, tell me what happened."

"This guy who I've never seen before walked up to me, asked me what time it was, yelled out, 'Don't read this weblog dot com!' and then he karate chopped me in the clavicle."

I would like to be regaled with tales of how you are getting the word out about my site. Photographic evidence and/or links to the website where this happened would be greatly appreciated in the Comments section.

The Hall of Fame has become the mark at which members of a given profession aspire to reach in order to solidify their place in history. The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. The Baseball Hall of Fame. The Inventors Hall of Fame. A high level of esteem and respect is given to anybody who manages to be inducted into the aforementioned hallowed halls.

Recently, however, a new Hall of Fame has opened in Palm Springs, California that many people find to be grossly inappropriate. The National Institute for Celebrating Evil (NICE) has opened its latest installment in poorly themed Hall of Fames.

The Child Molester's Hall of Fame opened Monday despite countless death threats to its curators. This "only made them hotter."Their Fondletron 3000 is a machine programmed to perfectly simulate some of the most famous child molestations in history. Always wondered what it would be like on the set with Roman Polanski? Wonder no longer. They even have a giraffe handy for their "Neverland Ranch" scenario.

But famous child molestations is not the purpose of the Hall of Fame. According to the founders, who wish to remain anonymous, it's to bring attention to the landmarks in their favorite pastime.

For instance, an entire section of the Hall sponsored by NAMBLA (The North American Man Boy Love Association) and Jamba Juice (in what can only be categorized as a misguided advertising decision) is devoted to the "Good Ole Days" in Ancient Rome when men and young pre-pubescent boys were allowed to cavort freely in bathhouses in the most primal of ways. In case you're interested, this area is called "The Arist-toddler and Socra-tease Wing."

And, finally, when one enters the Hall, they are greeted by the face of "modern day" child molestation, Thaddeus T. Barrington, and one of his famous sayings enshrined on a very large plaque.

If young children weren't meant to be used for our own perverse sexual desires, the Lord God shouldn't have made them so adorable--and physically weak.

The price of admission is $10 for adults and, of course, children are free.

For those wishing to check out other inappropriate buildings NICE has erected, you can visit the following:The White Power Water Park in Huntington Beach, California (No matter how wrong the message of this theme park, Slide Fuhrer is awesome).The Annual Naked Fat Guy Parade And Art Show in Duluth, Minnesota.AndThe Purposefully Handicapped Inaccessible Building or No Legs, No Service in Grand Rapids, Michigan.